


Spread Your Wings

by Kayasurin



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Declarations Of Love, Getting Together, Intervention, Jack needs it, M/M, Wingfic, oblivious idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 07:20:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11573142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kayasurin/pseuds/Kayasurin
Summary: Pooka had wings, formed and shaped by the love their fellows felt for each other. On Earth, Aster has no wings, even though he knows - most of the time - that his friends do love him.And then he gets his wings back.





	Spread Your Wings

His wings had been blue, Before.

He didn't normally think about them, the not-a-weight of his wings, his _limbs_. The feathers, soft blue on top, pale cream on the bottom. They'd clashed a bit with his fur, dark tan and pale gold, but he only had platonic feathers. And he hadn't minded; his family had given him those wings, the colour, and he loved his wings, he loved his family, he wouldn't have changed a thing.

And then they died. They died, and his people died, and there was no one left. His wings stayed, for a few years (centuries? Maybe centuries) and then one day he woke up in a drift of feathers, his wings gone.

His fur covered the scars, two curving, faintly uneven lines down his shoulder blades. And later, later, when he met Sandy, met North, met Tooth - they didn't know. Not even Pitch knew, for all he'd been a friend of Pooka Before. They'd always kept their wings tucked away, shifted out of sight, around outsiders.

And. They were. Pitch aside, they were his friends. Tooth, who crowded close or drew away, no comfortable middle-ground. She'd had wings too, great feathered things that spread wide enough to shelter them all beneath her emerald feathers. He'd thought - but then he'd found out about the Sisters of Flight, and she wasn't like him at all. When her wings changed, to iridescent dragonfly wings, strong and delicate, she wasn't _losing_...

What, the last reminder of her parents' love?

(Parents, siblings, brothers-in-arms. That one grocer who fluttered when Aster stopped in for a few loaves of sweetbread and a quick chinwag. Friends he'd known through college, who called him up and laughed at his military uniform, laughed at Hot Headed Prankster Aster toeing the line and standing at attention -)

(He'd carried the love from his family and friends with him to this new planet, but it hadn't lasted. Not forever.)

Humans confused him and sometimes frightened him, the way they didn't - didn't have wings, didn't display the love others held for them, the way they didn't _know_ , as deep and strong as the flesh and blood limbs spreading from their shoulders, the way people would go to their death thinking they were alone, unwanted, unloved, and if they _just had wings_ they would know, would see, would _feel_ -

North, bright, wingless North, laughed and grabbed him into hugs, spent long evenings talking to him as they circled around loss, grief, a fear of not being good enough, not doing everything they could. And he - he loved North, like a new brother, and North loved him, he knew that, he _knew_ that but -

But North was human. And humans did not - their love did not grow wings.

Sandy... Well. Sandy. Sandy was his friend, but he was also a star. He didn't expect Sandy to - wings had always been a Pooka thing. No other species had - so all the time he spent with the former shooting star, learning how to read and translate Sandy's language -

Aster didn't _need_ wings to know he was loved, for his friends to know he loved them back.

He just... he missed flying.

He missed being loved.

* * *

"Jack." Tooth hovered up beside him, arms folded. "Are you staring at Bunny's butt?"

"Nooooo..." Tooth raised an eyebrow. Jack hung his head. "Yes."

His friend sighed, and just from the sound he knew he was talking to the Fairy Queen, Warrior and Ruler, who kept a sword in what she insisted wasn't hammerspace, but worked exactly like hammerspace. He was in so much trouble. He'd gotten the Fairy Queen to say 'butt'.

Tooth settled on the rafter beside him, and peered down at the object of their discussions. "It is a good butt, isn't it?"

Jack almost fell off his perch. "I - but you - bwah?" Wait, wait, no, reboot - he shook his head. Nope, not Fairy Queen mode. Girlfriend mode. Even worse. "I was thinking a kick me sign, maybe, or something off a snarky t-shirt," he bluffed. "Like, y'know, Insert chocolate for cookie monster, or -"

Tooth smiled at him. He stopped talking. "Or, you're admiring the aesthetic properties of that behind."

Down on the workshop floor, Bunny leaned forward to study a bit of detail on a painted dollhouse. His little cotton-puff of a tail stuck up into the air. "Or that," Jack admitted, forcing his gaze up towards the ceiling. "Maybe."

She pursed her lips, eyes sparkling with humour. "You should tap that."

"Tooth!"

"What?" Fairies were, among many other things, mischievous. Tooth was certainly living up to that _now_. "Aren't you the one who likes making people happy? If you tapped that, Bunny would be happy. You would be happy. Bunny being happy would mean he's less grumpy, which would make a lot of other people very happy. Besides," she added, twinkling at him. "I know you want to get your hands on that nice, firm -"

"Tooth!" Ice spirits weren't supposed to burn. And yet, he could probably fry an egg on his forehead right now. "C'mon!"

"And that tail! Just so cute!" Tooth clasped her hands under her chin and did an upper-body wiggle. Jack facepalmed. "So really, why are you waiting? Go down and grab him!"

"I'm not grabbing Bunny in front of the yeti." Whoops, too many words. Especially since he wasn't going to grab Bunny _at all_.

"Oh, well, in that case, why don't I clear the room for you?"

Jack grabbed Tooth's wrist before she could make good on her promise. Threat. That was a threat, not a promise, what was he _thinking_...?

Oh right, he wasn't thinking. Beyond her comment about getting his hands on Bunny's - ahem.

"No, Tooth. I'm not - I mean, I do, but -" He floundered a moment, before he found the words. "That sort of thing should come with love, right?" He chuckled, a little weakly, and released her wrist in order to gesture broadly. "I mean, I'm not the kinda guy to insist on marriage first, 'cause one, that's _really_ boring and two, you should test drive the car before you buy it, but... I mean, love's what turns it from test driving a car to being a - a mutual performance art, right?"

Tooth raised an eyebrow. "Mutual performance art?"

"Bite me, spur of the moment." On second thought... Jack held up his hands. "Please don't actually bite me."

"Spoilsport." But she grinned and rolled her eyebrows. Safe! "But, though... are you seriously trying to tell me you're not in love with Bunny?"

Jack froze, not _exactly_ literally. Frost covered his clothes and spiked his hair, but he otherwise remained warm flesh and blood. That was maybe having a little bit of a panic attack.

"Jack."

"No!" No, nope, nada, nyet, not one little bit at all. "I admire Bunny. He's amazing. But I'm not in love with him."

Down below, Bunny straightened up and scratched the back of one shoulder. He scowled, scratched harder, and snapped something to one of the yeti.

Tooth frowned. Jack panicked.

"Great guy, super great, just - just great, really, but I don't - I mean, the way he is with kids, like, now he's spending time with them again? He loves them, they adore him, he's probably responsible for pet rabbit sales going through the roof. And I mean what's not to lo - admire! I said admire! There's lots to admire! And he's funny! He's smart and he's funny and he can be way sarcastic but not usually in a mean way, just in a absurdity of life way, and that's great, because Bunny's great, and he's really talented too, that's great, because his paintings -"

"And you're hot for his body," Tooth said.

Jack flailed his way off the beam until he hung upside down by the knees.

"Oh, Jack." Tooth, cheating cheater that she was, flew down and hovered in front of him. "Why won't you just admit it? Love is what you feel when you appreciate another person as intensely as you appreciate Bunny. Like you love the kids."

Jack scowled. "I - that's different! The kids are, well, they're kids. Of course I love them. The whole world's my younger sibling. Siblings. Maybe nibblings. I think I got off track somewhere around there."

He was upside down, so Tooth couldn't pat him on the head. Instead, she bopped his nose. "The point is, you feel as strongly for Bunny as you do for the kids. Just with the addition of a whole heaping load of lust."

Jack blushed again, and looked down at Bunny. The Pooka had amazingly good hearing...

... when he bothered to use it. At the moment, he was berating a yeti and clawing at his shoulders. Jack concentrated, and heard something about... trees? No, fleas. Wait. What?

"Does Bunny have fleas?"

Tooth turned to look, and tilted her head to the side. "Maybe? He - oh there he goes."

Yup, down the rabbit hole. Jack sighed, as relieved as he was disappointed, and twisted back upright.

And came face to face with Sandy, who was grinning like an imp on a sugar high. Jack yelped and fell back down again, this time off the beam completely.

"Not nice," he complained, dangling from Tooth's hold. Inside, flight was... something best left for outside, at least unless he wanted to trap a storm in the very small confines of the workshop. It wasn't like he'd had a lot of practice flying indoors before, but all of his experimentation after just said it was better to walk.

Or let other people hold him up. Though Tooth wasn't putting him down. Great, he was a captive.

"What is this?" he asked.

Sandy flashed several symbols, and then leaned back against empty air, beaming.

"I do not need an intervention!"

* * *

His back ached.

Aster curled up tighter, trying to stretch out muscles that seemed determined to pull him back, until his heels touched the tips of his ears. He could barely keep his spine straight, tried to pull his knees up to his chest and couldn't.

If that wasn't enough, he _itched_. All over, but mostly across his shoulders. Like fleas, only they didn't spread this fast - had it really only been an hour since he left the Workshop? And anyways, the yeti took care of their fur. Fleas weren't quite anathema, but they were right up close to there.

Aster panted through another wave of pain, and rolled onto his stomach. Pressure on his back - across his back - the leather of his bandolier snapped like a cotton thread, and he managed to shove it mostly to the side before a muscle spasm whited his vision out.

He might have screamed. There was a burning - tearing - fuck was it chocolate? It was chocolate. He'd had some chocolate and that'd explain - except no, the other arms were on the top and sides of his shoulders, not along the back, not -

Something tore. Something else flexed. There was movement, and muscles shifting in a mix of pain and pleasure, and across the room one of his lamps hit the ground and shattered.

Aster, with great effort, fell unconscious.

* * *

"Are you seriously having an intervention, for me, because you think I'm in love with Bunny?"

Three Guardians nodded enthusiastically. Ymir, because they were a contrary bastard, simply smiled and sipped at a delicate cup of tea. It was more like slush than liquid, but it didn't bother them.

Jack glowered. His friends - and he was reconsidering that classification more with every second - were assholes. They'd left him his staff, because otherwise he'd probably have gone ballistic and after the initial explosion, booby-trapped anything and everything they owned, were considered to own, or might possibly come across in the course of their duties. Not even Sandy could tolerate glitter for too long, and Jack not only had a lot of free time at the moment, he also had a wellspring of creativity, a plethora of minions only too happy to help him get supplies, and access to the world wide web and as such, a world of suggestions.

Except he couldn't go prank-ballistic on them, because they'd left him his staff.

They'd duct taped him to a chair, though.

_And_ they'd brought in Ymir, so as to have a winter spirit strong enough to thwart Jack in any ice-related shenanigans.

Jack might've been a Herald of Winter, he might've had Mother Nature's favour (how he got that, he didn't know, and how anyone else could see it... seriously, no clue) and he might've been a Guardian, but Ymir had been worshiped as a god. Sometimes a contrary, antagonistic god, too, which only made it worse, and Ymir stronger.

Plus, the Jotuns were just mortal enough that their belief and faith in the First of their race added a healthy dollop of belief-power as well.

"I just want you to know, I hate all of you." Jack managed to twist his wrist enough to lay his staff across his lap, and relaxed as much as the duct tape allowed. "I. Hate. _All_. Of. You."

Ymir giggled, the sound as androgynous as the rest of them. Jack hadn't the first clue what vocal ranges were called, and he'd given Tooth a shock when he'd called one guy with a low voice a soprano - apparently sopranos were the low-voiced women or something and the guys were contraltos, he'd honestly tuned her out - but Ymir sounded like a high-pitched man, or a low-pitched woman. Supposedly there was a proper musical term for that.

Aaaaaand he was distracting himself from the duct tape and intervention. Not very well, either.

"You might hate us, but you're also going to listen," Ymir pointed out. They gulped down the last of the slush in their drink, and set the cup aside. "Even I've noticed."

"Noticed what? There's nothing to notice!"

North cleared his throat. "You have become the pine tree," he said. Jack stared at him. He was probably making a face, a "what the fuck are you on and keep it away from me" face, but seriously. A pine tree?

North made a face back. "Pining. Pine tree. Did you not get it? It was a joke."

"Not now," Tooth muttered.

Sandy began flashing symbols at an insultingly slow pace. Jack glowered. "That's a lie!"

A series of glances were exchanged between the four. And then they all started talking.

"Oh yes you absolutely do -"

"- feel filthy just standing in the same room, with you staring and licking your lips -"

Sandy's images were quite specific and extremely rude.

"Your frost has been looking more like flowers than anything," Ymir said, cutting through the rest of the babble.

Jack stared at Ymir, all thoughts gone flying out of his brain. The Frost Giant looked serious, solid-black eyes relaxed in truth, not bulging open in mania or narrowed nearly shut in suspicion or rage. Their dark blue skin had only the faintest shimmers of frost, due entirely to the warmth of the room and nothing with their emotions. That was Ymir's serious-truth-time expression right there, and Jack didn't know how to deal with it.

Oh wait. Denial was always an option. "I'm trying out a geometric phase, it's not my fault you're half-blind."

"Oh, Jack." Tooth sighed. It was a very pitying sound. "That wasn't even plausible."

"I am half-blind though," Ymir told her. "That damn mortal took out my eye."

"I thought Odin lost the eye."

"There is a reason the saying goes 'an eye for an eye'." Ymir smirked, and then scowled. "Don't know how he ended up worshiped as a god, though I suppose living to his eighties before dying would help with that."

"Off topic," North pointed out. Tooth and Ymir ignored him. Jack started wiggling, trying to loosen up the duct tape.

Sandy floated over, and shook his head. Jack wrinkled his nose in reply. Sandy frowned, all disappointment and sorrow.

Jack sighed, and hung his head. "Bunny's my friend. Of course I love him, I love him as a friend. I love you as a friend. But I'm not _in love_ with him."

Sandy patted Jack on the head, and then grabbed a handful of hair and _yanked_.

"OW! Hey, I'm attached to that!"

Sandy let him go, and made several signs that summed up as: _Rather the point, my boy._ Jack wasn't about to wonder about why he gave his Sandy-translations a proud-uncle-British-voice, but he did. It somehow fit.

"Look, I don't see why it's such a big deal," he grumbled, careful to keep his voice down. Sure, the terrible trio arguing with each other over the Worst Mortals I Have Known (And am Associated With By Myths) were loud enough he could probably play the trumpet and they wouldn't have noticed, but who knew when there'd be an inconvenient lull in the yelling? "So what if I'm... gah, in love with Bunny. It's not like it really matters."

_By Jove,_ Sandy exclaimed. _He admits it! And of course it matters. Bunny's a good chap, he's been alone much too long._

"That is the worst reason to try romancing someone ever. It - he doesn't even like me that much, Sandy!"

Sandy stared at him. Jack stared back. Sandy stared some more. Jack, instead of repeating himself, checked on the terrible trio. Apparently Worst Mortal comparisons had turned into Best Mortal comparisons. There was still a lot of yelling. He looked back at Sandy. Sandy was still staring.

"This isn't awkward at all," he muttered.

The little dreamweaver shook his head, and then flicked Jack on the forehead. _My dear boy, you are an idiot._

"Wha - hey!"

_I realize the initial unpleasantness has coloured your outlook a touch, but out of all of us, Bunny will opt for your company over everyone else._ Of course, Sandy didn't exactly say that, but Jack was translating. And the British just would not stop. He didn't even like British accents all that much, the ones on TV just sounded so fake and - wait no Sandy was still going.

Sandy touched a finger under Jack's chin, clearly checking to see the winter spirit was still following along. _I will allow that the two of you argue, but again discounting the initial unpleasantness, neither of you have pushed to the point of actual, hurt feelings during such confrontations. Rather, it seems you both enjoy them, would you not agree?_

"I... yeah." It was pretty fun, so long as they stayed away from the hot button topics. Cutting spaghetti vs. twirling it up on the fork was a great argument, especially since Jack didn't care and he was pretty sure Bunny didn't even like the dish. And it wasn't like they always argued. Bunny usually complained to Jack about his fellow spring spirits, and Jack happily complained right back. That wasn't exactly something Tooth or Sandy could sympathize with, they didn't have a season. And North had a season, but he was so far down the Winter Ranks he'd never even _been_ to their court.

Meanwhile, Jack had actual duties in the court that he couldn't duck out of, and Bunny had different duties that sounded just as stupid, and then their... co-workers, for lack of a better word...

Okay, so the two of them gossiped like cranky old grannies sick and tired of all the whippersnappers and their soap opera love affairs, but so what? It worked for them.

And if, sometimes, Bunny dragged Jack off for non-arguing, non-gossip hang-outs? Jack enjoyed those times way too much to question them. If he asked, Bunny might stop.

_Never_ , Sandy declared, when Jack finished talking. _Really, you should look on such excursions as a sign of Bunny's favour. He's certainly never snuck into a music show with any of the rest of us, after all._

"It's not exactly sneaking when you're invisible."

_Did he bring the snacks?_

Jack sighed, and nodded. "Yeah."

_So, allow me to present a hypothetical scenario, if you will,_ Sandy said, producing a deer-stalker cap out of sand. He settled it over his hair, which somehow scrunched down to fit. _In this scenario, we have a small group of friends, one rather new to the group. Let us call him Tulip._

"Tulip?" Jack muttered. Sandy waved him off.

_Our other fellow we shall call Chickadee._ Of course, then they had to stop and argue over the bird - Jack suspected Sandy meant something a little more dramatic than 'Chickadee', possibly 'Robin', but he was sticking with Chickadee. Sandy finally gave up with a huff.

_Chickadee and Tulip have a bit of an argument to start, being something of rivals outside of the group, but that settles down quickly enough. After a short while, Chickadee begins inviting Tulip on outings meant to be pleasant for both of them. And yet, due to their unpleasant beginnings to the relationship, Chickadee is hesitant to suggest anything beyond friendship._

_At the same time, Tulip begins to feel rather fond of Chickadee, somehow completely oblivious to the courtship already begun_. Sandy stopped, and stared at Jack. Rather intently.

"Are you serious here?" Well, he probably was, but Jack really couldn't see it.

Really... wait.

Wait, hold up.

"Courtship?" he squeaked.

Sandy reached up and rubbed his temples.

* * *

Someone had killed a chicken in his bed. Or maybe a parrot. There were feathers. Brightly coloured feathers. And blood, just a touch.

Aster blinked, eyelids moving slow and heavy, and slowly crawled his way to consciousness. Some fucker had killed a chicken in his bed and then fucked off, because he was alone and there were feathers _everywhere_.

Fuck, but his head hurt. What'd he drink last night? Or this morning? Or... yesterday? His head felt like someone'd stuck a pickaxe in one ear and got it wedged there, his mouth felt like the dead chicken had taken up residence on his tongue, and last he checked that was the _floor_ , not the wall. His body seemed a little confused about that fact, though, kept trying to fall over onto one side.

... Water. He'd drink some water. Everything would make sense then. Water would make everything better.

He just had to get to the kitchen. Couldn't be too hard.

In the end, he crawled. Not even moving properly on hands and feet, he moved on hands and knees. It hurt, but everything did. Head, back, stomach, _toenails_ for El-Ahrairah's fluffy sake. Aster made it to the kitchen without collapsing or puking, which was something of a miracle. Of course, once there, he couldn't figure out how to stand up and get at the sink. The sink was where the water was. And it was out of reach, what with him crawling and all.

Aster looked around for a bucket or a ramp or - ice box. Ice melted into water. He was fairly sure.

He pulled the ice box open. A jug of something orange and liquid caught his eye. It smelled alright, so he took a drink.

He stopped. Looked at the jug. And chugged it.

Aster groaned, and set the empty jug down on the floor. The clink of glass on wood was offensively loud at the moment, but he finally felt like he might survive. The ice pick was gone, at least, though he still had a headache.

Right. Blood loss and dehydration. El-Ahrairah's ears, but he was never going drinking with Pan again.

... Except... he hadn't been drinking. There'd been something... There _was_ something...

Aster dismissed it, and started pulling food out of the ice box. He'd eat some of these - oh lovely, hardboiled eggs - and fill up the jug with water and chug that, and then if he felt more alive he'd figure out just what'd happened.

Aster stuffed an egg into his mouth, shell and all, and sat up. He adjusted his wings so the long flight feathers didn't drag against the floor, and -

Flight feathers?

He curved a wing around, and stared at it.

He had his wings back.

* * *

"Okay, but I really think you're seeing things that aren't there."

Three exasperated Guardians and one exasperated god stared at him. Jack sulked in his seat, still duct-taped to the chair, but he'd stopped struggling.

"Jack," North said, and rubbed his forehead. Sandy, who'd been beating his head against Jack's _completely true and accurate logic and knowledge of events_ threw his hands up and floated backwards, until he was in line with the others again.

"You know," Ymir said, turning to look at the others. "It might be a good idea for me to speak with Jack, winter to winter. And yes, I know, you are winter as well, St. North, but you do not have thundersnow in your veins."

"You wish to have the room, or what?" North asked. He stood up, knees popping and back cracking, though he didn't react to the sounds. After this long, neither did Jack, even though it sounded painful.

"Or what," Ymir said. They stood as well, and gestured towards the window. "Though perhaps it might be better if we go out through an actual door."

Jack attempted to escape when they pulled the duct tape off, but Jotuns weren't called Frost _Giants_ for nothing. Ymir was able to wrap their thumb and forefinger around Jack's head, with a bit of overlap. Jack stopped struggling, and sulked as he was led to a handy balcony.

"I don't have thundersnow in my veins. That'd kill me."

"Metaphor, Jack, I know you know of it."

"Lies and slander."

" _Jack_." Ymir frowned down at him. "Are you going to run away if I let you go?"

He could. Ymir might have been a god, or a demi-god, or whatever, but Jack rode the winds. As fast as the first Jotun could run, Jack could fly a lot faster. On the other hand, there'd be a frozen hell to pay, either the next time he met his friends, or the next time he was forced to attend winter's court. He sighed, and just for the heck of it, let his breath fog out on the cold air.

"No, I guess not."

"Good." Ymir let go of Jack's head, and leaned back against the building. They looked comfortable, even though the wind was as cold as it ever got, here in the Arctic. Jack wasn't immune to the cold, not entirely, and the other Jotuns felt it about as much as he did - though they ran around without shirts half the time, and he at least wore a sweater - but Ymir looked perfectly happy with a bare chest and ornamented loincloth. Then again, glacier god.

"So." Jack hopped up onto his staff, and looked away from the Jotun. "I suppose you're going to insist Bunny's got super-fond feelings for me, too?"

"Not at all. Most likely he doesn't." And really, Jack knew that, so why did he feel like Ymir had just sucker punched him in the gut?

Ymir went on when Jack didn't reply. "The Easter Rabbit is a creature of spring," they said, with all the solemnity of a judge condemning a man. "They are fickle beings, spring spirits, as flighty as a butterfly, their emotions as quick to bloom and fade as their fragile flowers. At the moment I expect you are a novelty, a winter spirit that isn't trying to threaten his garden."

"Bunny's not like that, though." He _wasn't_. Sure, there were spirits like Ymir had described, but it wasn't like they were only found in spring. There were autumn spirits like that, and summer and winter, fire and water and wind and earth and all in between. But Bunny - if those fickle spirits were like short-lived blossoms, Bunny was one of those super-old trees that lived for millions of years, enduring drought and flood and the transition of a land from lush forest to shifting sands of a desert. Bunny wasn't fickle, for all his temper flashed like lighting in a spring storm. If he liked someone, he _liked_ them, even when he argued and cussed them out.

"Is he not?" Ymir asked, and raised their eyebrows. "Well, perhaps. Even so, a spring spirit, care more than friendship for winter?"They shook their head, braids swaying. "It would never work. You're right, to stay with friendship alone. That way it won't hurt as much when he turns to others of spring for such things."

As if Bunny would. He'd never once looked, not even at the great beauties of the world, spirit or otherwise. Jack had heard the gossip, and even seen Bunny's disinterest a time or two on their outings. Bunny wasn't the type for a one-off roll in the hay, or even paying those beauties attention long enough to do a portrait. He had no interest in drawing people, he'd told Jack once, even though -

\- even though Jack was sure he'd seen a sketch or two of Jack himself, times he certainly hadn't been posing for any portrait. Huh. How about that?

"Bunny's not that type." Jack folded his arms, and glared down at his toes. "Bunny - you don't know him. If he takes someone to bed, it'll be because he's given them his heart. And - and there's certainly no one he's interested in."

"Even so." Ymir fell quiet, then, apparently content to look over the fields of ice and snow. Jack looked out over them too, but he was glaring. Bad enough his friends had forced him to admit things, but now Ymir agreed with Jack that Bunny wasn't interested?

There were plenty of reasons for Bunny to be interested, maybe, with a little encouragement. Sure, there was the age thing, but after a certain point that was literally just a number, and anyways Bunny had slept most of those many millions of years. Time spent asleep didn't count, everyone knew that. So really, Bunny was at most five thousand years old, if that, and sure Jack wasn't even half a millennia yet but so what? They acted about the same age, really, when Bunny wasn't being a grumpy stick in the mud, which he rarely did anymore anyways.

Jack could get Bunny to laugh, sometimes, though it sounded really weird and rather alien compared to human laughter. Bunny dragged him places, and there were those two pictures Jack had caught sight of, the portraits. If Bunny drew pictures of him, clearly he didn't think Jack was completely fugly or whatever.

Sure, there was the whole alien thing, but it wasn't like Jack was interested in human-style spirits, physically. They were okay, but - truth with himself time, joy - they were no Bunny. Bunny was tall, and strong, and had fur that shimmered between gray and blue, and dark markings that curved along his back and up and down his shoulders and arms, and big green eyes that just lit up sometimes, like all the stars in the sky had relocated and were shining out of his irises. Bunny had a voice that was deep and rough and sent shivers down Jack's spine, and an accent that made Jack want to laugh with delight, and when Bunny wasn't talking he was listening, the way only he could, with all his attention even when he was painting an egg or preparing a salad or something.

Bunny was a catch, the best spring and the whole spirit world had to offer, so how could Jack have avoided falling for him? And Jack, sure, Jack wasn't the best or anything, but he was still pretty good. He understood Bunny's loneliness, as much as anyone could, and he understood Bunny's sense of humour, which was honestly terrible. He was an alright fighter, and willing to stand up for the important things. Sure, he probably wasn't that impressive, physically, to a giant, alien rabbit - Jack wasn't that impressive, physically, to people born on earth, either. But there had been those pictures, maybe, so clearly there was something interesting about him Bunny wanted to put down on paper.

Jack - Jack wanted to give Bunny things, all the things. He wanted to make Bunny smile, and laugh, and see that kind of dorky smile become permanent, or the nearest thing to it. He wanted Bunny to be _happy_ , and as much as he wanted to think he'd be a good guy, if Bunny ever showed interest in someone else...

Well, if Bunny ever showed interest in someone else, romantic interest in a spring spirit or a summer spirit, or some harvest whatever, Jack would probably go off and sulk for a century or two. Or ten. Because Jack wanted to be the one to make Bunny happy. Heck, he wanted to be the one to bring Bunny flowers and baked goods, to press kisses to the tip of that cute little nose, to sink his fingers into that plush fur and press up against that broad chest. Jack wanted that.

Except Bunny didn't feel that way...

"What the fuck," Jack muttered. He stood up and glared into Ymir's eye. "Okay, you know what? You don't know anything."

"Oh, what brought this on?" As if they didn't know.

"You're no mind reader. You haven't even met Bunny, I don't think! You have no idea if he feels anything fond for me, or if he could if I just asked. And you don't get to tell me he doesn't as if it's some kind of gospel fact!" Jack flipped his staff up into his hand, the wind curling around him to keep him in place. "So you know what?"

"What?" Ymir asked, smirking. Well Jack was just going to wipe that smirk off Ymir's face.

"I'm going to go talk to Bunny! And prove you wrong, see if I don't!"

Ymir was outright grinning now, but Jack didn't waste any more time on them. He spun and flew away from the workshop as fast as the wind could take him. He'd made it all the way to the Atlantic ocean before he stopped, and knocked his fist against his forehead.

"I'm dumb," he muttered, and flew back to the workshop. Ymir was still there, still grinning.

"Oh, stop it. Now let me in, I need to steal a snow globe."

* * *

Aster sat in front of a trio of mirrors, and examined his wings in the reflection.

They weren't like his first wings, but then, he'd changed too. These were bigger, broader; his old wings - and what was his life, that he'd now had two sets of wings? - had been narrow, streamlined, for speed. These were meant for power, though power that could be turned into speed as well. With these, he could fly combat for hours, making turns and switching from a dive into a climb, or a climb into a dive, with sheer, brute strength if it came down to it.

Forget punching a bloke, all he'd have to do was smack him with a wing and he'd be on the ground, broken bones everywhere.

His old wings had been blue and cream; these wings were mostly gray, with enough shimmering undertones of blue to make him doubt his eyes. The long flight feathers were darker, the same shade as his markings, and up along the leading edge of his wings were dark speckles. It was a striking appearance, he had to admit, and the wings were definitely big enough to hold up his weight.

The thing was, though, these were romance feathers. He couldn't have said how he'd known, no Pooka had ever been able to explain it, even to other Pooka, but they _were_. Someone out there loved him, not as a friend or family member, but romantically.

Aster shivered, and folded his wings up. The heavy muscles along his back and shoulders, the muscles he'd lost when he'd lost his wings, flexed in a way he'd never been aware of before. It was nice, he decided, the way the muscles and his wings felt. He wasn't too sure about the cause of the wings, but at least they felt right.

Love feathers. What was he supposed to do with those? He'd never - no one had ever - he'd have noticed someone developing a pash for him, wouldn't he?

The feathers shimmered with blue highlights. Maybe that meant - but no, decades he'd spent now, and Jack still thought of him as a friend. The blue colour probably didn't mean anything.

So it was someone else whose love had given him wings. Aster ruffled his feathers, and headed back for the kitchen. He didn't _want_ someone else, some bloke or sheila he didn't know. Whoever it was, they were bound to be disappointed, heartbroken even, because he knew who he wanted, and Jack...

Aster sighed. Why would Jack want him back? He was old, and had a caustic tongue and explosive temper. He was alien and set in his ways, and he wasn't sure which of those was worse. Jack, meanwhile, was a beaut of a bloke, cheerful and welcoming, and could have anyone he cared to if he only put a bit of effort into it.

The earlier food and drink had eased his headache down to a low grumble, so it was easy enough to start prepping a pot for soup. He didn't think he'd manage anything solid, and the soup would be ready by the time he was hungry again. Until then, he sipped at some fresh-pressed apple juice out of a wine glass, since he'd forgotten to do his dishes again. And he wasn't about to start swigging juice out of a ten-pound jug, that was a bit much even for him.

His wings took some getting used to. Not because he'd forgotten how to move with them hanging off his shoulders or anything - he'd immediately adjusted his stance to both compensate and take advantage of them, and the low-level back ache he'd never gotten rid of died off at once - but because he was aware of them in a way he'd never been before. The way the feathers glided over each other, and over his fur. The way his wing muscles twitched and shifted, adjusting to his steps back and forth as he cut up vegetables and tossed dried lentils into the simmering water. Little things, good things, because as confused and upset as he was over the romance feathers, it was still wonderful to have his wings back.

His focus on having his wings back was the only reason he was caught by surprise.

* * *

"I'm pretty sure the locals don't call it Easter Island," Jack grumbled.

North made a face, sweat gleaming at his temples. "No," he admitted. "It is Rapa Nui, but is on the map as Easter Island."

"That's almost as dumb as you wearing that heavy coat into the South Pacific." Jack smirked. He had room to talk, since he'd pulled off his sweater before walking through the portal. He could've kept his skin frosted over to keep cool, but that took more effort than it was usually worth. Besides, it wasn't like he was naked or anything, he'd kept his trousers and the worn-out undershirt he'd... borrowed... from a clothesline a century ago.

North just glared at him. "Here," he said, and pointed at a small hole in the ground. "Back door to Bunny's burrow. I am going home now."

"Before you overheat, got it." Jack waved North back through a second portal, and then regarded the hole.

There was no reason to believe his friend had misled him, either on purpose or by accident. He had no gift for seeing magic, not like some, but there was a shimmer a little like a heat haze around the hole. That sort of thing usually meant magic, and it was safe to assume North could recognize one of Bunny's wards.

It was weird, though, that the portal hadn't worked. North had grumbled something about locks and shields, and then told him there was a back way that couldn't be blocked off, even as it couldn't be used by dark forces. The location alone was a pretty decent deterrent; most of the dark and nasty things that hated Bunny couldn't handle light or heat, so a South Pacific island was pretty much perfect for that.

Jack sighed, and tied his sweater sleeves around his waist. He hadn't been in the Warren all that often, even with Bunny dragging him places, but the few times he'd visited, it'd been warm. Not as warm as this place, he thought, looking around at all the green, but still pretty warm. He'd put his sweater on once he left the tunnels though, his undershirt was pretty threadbare these days.

The hole was big enough to crawl into. It would've been easier if he hadn't been hanging onto his staff with one hand, since that effectively left him with only three useful limbs, but strapping it to his back somehow would've been even worse. The amount of contorting it took just to get five feet down into the hole was insane.

Six feet down, and the tunnel opened up into a proper Bunny-tunnel. Jack stood up, though he had to remain stooped over to avoid bashing his head, and looked around. Unlike the others he'd been in, this one was fairly straight and level. There weren't any flowers or ferns growing out of the walls, no vines or mosses softening the packed earth underfoot. The odd little holes overhead that let in light and air looked more like the circular skylights that were currently the rage in human home-design, rather than anything natural.

Then again, hadn't North called this an emergency access tunnel? That'd make sense, that it wouldn't fit into Bunny's aesthetics.

Well, there was only one direction. Jack started walking.

There was definitely some magic to the tunnel. The Warren was marked on North's globe as tentatively under Australia - "for now," Santa Claus had rumbled, sounding ominous about it - but so far as Jack could tell, Rapa Nui was almost on the other side of the planet from Australia. And yet, fifteen minutes after he stood up, he stepped out into the Warren.

As usual, he took a good several seconds to just stop and take the place in. It was big, and airy, and even though there was a cave ceiling high overhead, there was also a hearty breeze and the suggestion that somewhere, at some point in time, not only had there been a cloud, but it'd rained. Some caves were big enough to have their own weather and the Warren had to have been one of them. Though the sunlight was magical. Probably.

The only problem with the Warren was how green everything looked. Well, green and flower coloured, but that wasn't the point. Jack's reaction to 'green' these days, at least when it came to flora, was to try to reach out and frost the plant, send it to sleep, usher in the autumn. Bunny wouldn't appreciate it if he did, though, and in this place, Jack wasn't sure he could. It did mean he couldn't just sit back and enjoy the atmosphere, sadly.

Jack shook his head, and started walking. The emergency tunnel let out at a distant, little-used corner of the Warren - he assumed. To his untrained eye, the trees and flowers looked overgrown, but for all he knew it was supposed to look like a little patch of wilderness. Like those faux-wild gardens some rich people had, that took more careful care than plotted out beds and things. At least Bunny didn't have any fake ruins hanging around.

He got through the 'wilderness' quickly enough, and looked around. Egg fields over there, meant that Bunny's home would be that way...

Jack pulled his sweater back on, and moved into a steady jog. Ymir had played him like a fiddle, but now that he was here, going to talk to Bunny - Jack really didn't want to wait a minute longer to confess than he had to.

And if he got rejected, he'd just steal the best of North's liquor stash. Serve the old man right.

* * *

"Bunny?"

Aster jumped, and the wineglass shattered at his feet. He hissed a curse and stepped back, away from the apple juice and broken glass. Then, with nothing else to distract him, he looked up at his... guest.

Jack blinked at him from the doorway, mouth open in clear shock. Even as Aster began mentally noting the scene - the way Jack stood out against the background of Aster's home, crisp and pale and an utter contrast to the brown-red wood paneling and dark green paint - he cringed back. Not that Jack would know what the wings meant, what the shimmer in the feathers signified, but here he was, standing in front of the bloke he fancied while wearing someone else's love feathers.

It didn't feel right at all.

His ears fell down. Jack was still standing in the kitchen doorway, eyes bulging so white showed around every bit of his iris, jaw dropped open so far Aster could've counted his molars. He wasn't quite so far gone he'd lost hold of his staff. Jack tended to keep in contact with his staff at all times, and even now, he rarely put it down around the other Guardians.

Briefly, Aster wondered - and promptly stomped that thought before it could fully form. He did not need to know what Jack would do with his staff in bed.

Jack didn't even sleep in a bed.

"What're you doing here?" he asked, voice weak, but steady. He hunched his wings over his shoulders a bit, unsure exactly why - he didn't need to look bigger, not around Jack, who was a _friend_ \- but unable to stop doing it, either.

Jack raised one hand, finger pointed towards the ceiling, and hesitated. "Um." He blinked, settling down so he looked less startled, but still confused. "You have wings."

Aster twitched his wings. Hopefully it'd look irritated, not like he was trying to draw attention to the damn things. "Frostbite."

"Right, yes. Here, me, Warren - I can talk, why am I doing that?" Jack looked off to the side, and scowled. "Need any help with the glass?"

Which was still not an answer, but since it was a legitimate question and rather coherent, Aster nodded. He didn't really, but having a bit of help cleaning up wouldn't go amiss. Jack, with his nimble fingers, plucked glass fragments big enough to hurt, but small enough Aster would've had to get a broom.

Aster mopped with a handy dishcloth, which also served to pick up the sand-grains of glass from the floor. The kitchen wasn't the best place to have a talk, he thought, but glanced at the pot of soup. If he left, he'd soon forget it was cooking, it'd boil over, and then his kitchen would smell of nothing but burnt food for the next couple of weeks.

Staying put it was.

"So?" Aster tossed the dishcloth into the sink. He'd rinse it off later. "What're you doing here?"

Jack managed to look at once defiant and sheepish. It was the set of his jaw and the way he peered up through his bangs, Aster decided. That and the way he rocked back on his heels while setting his shoulders as though to take a blow. Or make one. "Well, I, ah, I came to see you. Obviously." He huffed, and glared down at his toes. "Why're the snowglobes not working?"

That was probably the best answer he'd get, at the moment. Aster turned and poked a ladle at the soup, checking how it was cooking. "Must've tripped the lock on my way back," he said. Not that he remembered doing so, but after the whole thing with Pitch back in twenty-twelve, he'd tweaked the trigger's sensitivity. Sure, the Nightmare King hadn't gotten into the Warren proper, but there hadn't really been anything to stop him, either.

Locking himself out of his own home once or twice since was well worth the price of security.

Aster nearly jumped again when Jack stepped up beside him. He hadn't heard the young man ghosting towards  him, though usually he caught sight of Jack in his peripheral - ah. Right. He'd have to get used to the way his wings made it impossible to see behind himself without turning.

At least, if he had to make the adjustment around anyone, it was Jack.

"So, uh, what're you making? It smells good."

"Didn't you get the inside of your nose burnt out that one time?" He was pretty sure Tooth had nearly gone off and killed Dipti when she'd heard the story, and never mind it'd been fifty years earlier. Even Jack wasn't holding a grudge, and he'd had a lamp blow up in his face and wreck his sense of smell.

"It came back." Jack ducked his head, eyeing up sidelong at Aster. "Now c'mon, it smells really good."

"Just soup. Vegetable soup."

"What, no eggs? Or chicken?" Jack grinned, and gestured at Aster's wings. "You look kinda hawk-like. I think." He frowned, and raked his gaze up and down Aster's body.

The Pooka looked away. Fur was extremely useful. After all, humans had nothing to hide their blushes with. "Jack," he grumbled. "No chicken."

He heard Jack huff, the amused not-a-laugh that frequented their conversations. He always looked cute when he made that sound, as if he'd been surprised and enjoyed it. "But I like chicken," he whined, and when Aster looked, he was making those ridiculous 'puppy dog eyes'.

"Tough. This is my dinner."

"But you should feed your guests."

"More like you broke in," Aster mused. "I'm not about to feed a burglar."

"Bunny!" Jack reeled back, clutching his chest, staff hooked over one arm. "I'm hurt!" He'd _be_ hurt, if he didn't watch where he swung that staff. Getting the end caught against the cupboards wouldn't be any kind of joke. "After all our years of friendship, you're calling me a burglar?"

"You want, I can call you something worse." Aster put the lid back on the soup pot. Not quite ready.

"Eh, if you don't want to share, I can always rustle up my own grub." Jack looked away, pink colour and frost chasing across his cheeks. "Maybe even rabbit," he muttered.

"Wait, what?"

"What?" Jack frowned, and then his eyes widened. "Oh shit, you heard that?"

So that hadn't been wishful thinking. Except, wait - "What?" Aster half-spread his wings, feeling mentally off balance even if he was okay physically. "Rabbit?" Jack didn't eat rabbits. Hadn't since before they'd become friends. Why would he think of such a thing now?

Also... "I don't have rabbits in my garden."

Jack's vaguely panicked look vanished, into one of reluctant belief. "That's what you thought I meant...? Bunny. No. Wrong kind of eat." He paused, and gestured towards Aster. "And that kind of rabbit. For the record."

Aster shook his head. He didn't get it. Or maybe he did, but it didn't make any sense, no matter how he turned Jack's words over in his head.

"Argh." Jack reached up and rubbed his temples. "Why does this have to be so _hard_?"

Aster fluffed his feathers against a surge of hope, his own and - and Jack's. Now, if he could only be sure of what Jack was hoping _for_. Aster knew what he was hoping for, but it'd be nice if he was right.

"Can we circle back to this topic?" Jack asked, finally looking up. "I need to figure out how to get the words right, and I just... I can't, right now. Is that okay?"

"Circle back...?" Aster shook his head. "I don't understand."

"Of course you don't. Look, um, maybe you could explain why you have wings? Now? Because you didn't before. Unless - shapeshifter?" Jack raised his eyebrows.

"Blatant subject change," Aster said, relaxing a bit. He still wasn't sure what Jack had meant about eating him. He doubted it had anything to do with _actual_ eating, it was probably slang, but he had no idea what for.

Jack huffed, and rolled his staff back and forth between his hands. "More like giving me a second to recover from shoving my foot in my mouth. Besides, I'm curious."

Fair enough. Jack was a show pony, sure, but that was at least half unconscious. Aster had seen it plenty of times in the army, get bored waiting for action and start playing around with your weapons like toys, until you could juggle four knives and a gun in battle and still gut a Fearling. Only difference was, Jack's weapons were his staff and his body, and he'd had a lot longer to practice. Not that Aster had realized that their first dozen meetings, but now he did. Jack just sometimes forgot other people didn't deliberately walk along telephone wires or pull aerobatic stunts that'd make a fighter pilot cringe.

His curiosity, though, was all conscious. If Jack had any fault, any crippling character trait that would override all good sense and lead him straight into danger, it was his curiosity. That was how the lamp had ended up blowing up in his face.

And if Aster didn't explain, Jack would just pester him single-mindedly until he did.

"It's not the shapeshifting." If he organized his cutlery drawer and pretended Jack wasn't there, maybe he could get through the explanation. Maybe. "All Pooka had wings, once. There was a shapeshifting element to it, things could make a Pooka's wings change, colour or length of feathers, or..."

No, nope, not working. He rubbed at the water spots on a fork's tines, and wondered how he'd thought he'd get through this.

He heard Jack shift, a very deliberate sound, and then one hand was pressed between his shoulder blades. He was always surprised by Jack's hands. They were just a little broader, a little warmer, than he expected. Every time.

"Why would someone change their wings?" Jack asked, quiet and solemn and not at all like himself. Except it was very like himself, because this was Jack, who might have been too curious to let the subject drop, but wasn't callous enough he didn't care about the effect it was having on Aster.

"It wasn't... choice. Exactly." Aster let the physical contact ground him. It did a better  job of that than staring at water-spotted forks did, anyways. "It was how other people felt about - about that person. Lack of feeling didn't do anything, but the more positive feelings, the... more the wings showed it? I don't - I don't know how to explain that."

"I don't really need to know how someone else's feelings would change the look of your wings," Jack lied, and it had to be a lie. Because Jack was curious as ten cats. Of course he'd want to know. "But you didn't have them before, and now you do...?"

"Lost them," Aster admitted. He hunched his shoulders, pressing back into Jack's hand. The winter spirit took the hint and began scratching his fingernails through Aster's fur, blunt nails scraping against thin skin with just enough force to feel good instead of ticklish. "They - after - they went away. And they didn't come back. Only just now, they did."

Because whatever his friends felt for him wasn't enough for wings, damn it, but the pash some random person had _was_.

"Do you know why?" Jack's scratching hesitated, and then moved away from his spine, to the base of one wing. It felt a bit odd, the way feathers slid over the rough skin of Jack's knuckles. Not bad; thanks to Tooth Jack, all of the Guardians in fact, knew how to touch feathers so as not to hurt anything. Just... different.

Aster clenched his eyes shut. "I... yeah. I might. I do. I..."

"You don't have to tell me."

No. He didn't. "These are love feathers," he muttered, twitching the wing Jack wasn't touching. "Someone - someone out there, I don't know who, wants to romance me. Because - because my friends' feelings wasn't enough, even though I know - I _know_ \- I -"

Something clattered against the floor, just as Jack stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Aster from behind. Aster stood to attention, wings coming down and trapping Jack's arms. Jack's breath stirred the guard hairs along Aster's spine, and if the winter spirit's hands were warm, his breath was cold enough Aster could feel it through his fur.

Or maybe the shiver was because Jack was hugging him, one long line of warmth and muscle and worn cotton from knee to shoulder.

"Of course they love you," Jack said. One hand was spread across Aster's chest, between the dense pectoral muscles for flight and over the not-a-wishbone, not-a-keelbone that served as both and a diaphragm besides. His other hand was lower, just above where Aster would have a bellybutton, if he'd been human and actually had one. "But - but earth, humans, um. Maybe it doesn't work the same, if it's just... sibling love."

Aster snorted, and leaned back into the hug. "What if they just don't love me?"

"Don't be stupid, Bunny, of course they do." He heard the dry click of Jack's throat when he swallowed. "I mean, I love you too. We all - we all love every grumpy, flea-bitten inch of you."

"Oy." There wasn't any force to it. He couldn't manage it, couldn't quite stop the smile twitching at the corners of  his mouth. "I don't have fleas."

"Yeah, I wouldn't hug you if you did." Lie. Jack got the most flea baths out of everyone. Not that he really needed them, with the way he could ice his skin over and kill the bastards, but it was fair payment after the time he gave the yeti fleas. "Anyways, um, well. I had a thought, you know."

"You typically have several." At least he was standing in a good spot to reach over and take his soup off the burner. It looked done, and smelt good. Since Jack had been nice and somewhat helpful, he'd even share.

"A thought specifically about this. And these." Jack moved one hand, shifting to the side a little, and smoothed his hand along Aster's feathers. The Pooka shivered, and looked back over his shoulder.

Jack smiled, and stroked Aster's feathers again. "Um, see, here's the thing. We're... belief, right? It affects us. Started the moment we joined the Guardians, right?"

"Right," Aster said. He turned, Jack turning and shifting with him, and somehow it ended with him leaning back against the counter, wings pinned, and Jack's arms bracketing him. They weren't touching anymore, but Aster was aware of all the space between them, and how very little of it there was.

"And, I mean, certain stories aside, what sort of love gets the most... airspace, guess you could say? True Love's Kiss isn't between siblings, or parent and child, after all." Jack raised his eyebrows.

"Romantic," Aster replied, and blinked. "You think that's it?" That generations of sprogs getting told stories about _romantic_ love breaking the spell, or saving the day, or otherwise triggering the happily ever after, had affected what caused his wings to manifest.

It made sense, allowing for the usual nonsense of spirithood and belief nonsense. If that was the case, then of course his friends' love wouldn't give him wings. Of course it'd be someone with a pash for him, whether they knew him or not. It was a relief, really, to think that was it. Extremely annoying, but it silenced all those doubts that'd come crowding to the front and made his eyes itch and his throat tight.

"I think it'd explain why these didn't show up until, um." Jack looked away, his blush slipping past pink-and-frost and turning to full on red with icicles in his hair. "Um. So. Well. Remember that comment I promised to explain?"

"Yeah." Jack wanted to eat him. Aster was fairly certain that was slang. Good slang, maybe?

Something that was part and parcel with the way Jack was looking at him, eyes bright, cheeks flushed, and the feel of his hope on Aster's wings?

"I think I figured out how to explain it."

* * *

Good job, Jack. Now was probably a good time to explain, though. Because as lovely as it was to stare up at Bunny, staring was not conductive to explaining. Or making word-sounds with his mouth.

It wasn't his fault, though! Stupid Bunny, with his big, green eyes and his cute little nose and the way his expression had gone all soft through their conversation, his usual resting scowl having dropped away. Jack wanted to smooth his thumbs along the arch of Bunny's eyebrows, stroke his fingers up and down those long ears, press nipping kisses to the bridge of that nose.

And those _wings_. Jack just wanted to preen those feathers as long as Bunny let him. He had a feeling the overgrown space-rabbit would be able to tolerate the minor chill Jack carried around with him better than Tooth could. Differences between someone who was clearly part tropical bird, and someone who was part rabbit.

And he should words. Now. Now would be good. Before that scowl was back to full-blown grump.

"The others held an intervention for me," Jack blurted. And promptly face-planted into Bunny's chest. "That was not how I wanted to start."

"Uh." Bunny was staring down at him, Jack just knew it. Well, better Bunny's chest than the counter, or the wall, or a tree trunk.

He really needed to stop going face-first into things. He'd get right on that.

"Sorry." He pulled back, enough to stop breathing stray hairs at least, and cleared his throat. "You know what? Yeah, let's start with the intervention. That they threw. Because I wouldn't admit I'm in love with you."

Bunny jerked, like he'd been hit with a zap of static electricity. "You -?" he asked, eyes going wide.

Jack shrugged, and eyed the wings as pointedly as he could. "Well. I mean. You're you. When I said we all love you, I meant it. I just... differently from the others, that's all."

"Differently?" Bunny leaned forward, not quite enough that they were touching again, but very, very close. Distractingly close. Jack took a deep breath that smelt of clean fur and damp earth and vegetable soup.

"Well," he said, feeling a bit desperate. Considering if he didn't find the right words he'd probably get tossed out on his ear, he had a valid reason. "I'm pretty sure none of the others have ever thought about convincing you to ignore the soup, go to bed with me, so I can demonstrate what 'eating you' means."

Jack nearly bit the tip of his tongue, he closed his mouth so fast. He hadn't meant to say it like that. But he had. And Bunny was staring at him. That was rather intimidating. Jack was holding his breath and hadn't even realised he'd started doing that and it wasn't like he needed to breathe more than once every twenty minutes but Bunny wasn't _doing_ anything and it was getting kind of unnerving and -

The world went spinney. When it stopped, Jack was pressed back against the counter and Bunny was looming over him, wings spread to block out every last visible inch of the room. They were very big. Very pretty. Very fluffy, and Jack really wanted to start stroking those feathers now. They looked soft.

"You wanna do sex things with me?" Bunny asked, voice almost as high and tight as when he saw a dog.

Oh. Bunny probably didn't want to... Welp. That answered that. Jack nodded, already planning his apology and how long he'd have to avoid Bunny to avoid the awkwardness of... _this_.

Bunny shifted away from Jack, standing straight as a pillar and looking about as sturdy. It was rather forbidding, really, especially with the wings adding bulk and breadth to the Pooka's body. Lovely image, just... not exactly what Jack wanted directed at him. In this way.

And then Bunny shifted, the atmosphere shifted, and Bunny was growling but Jack didn't want to run away.

"You're the one who gave me romance feathers?" Bunny asked, moving back into Jack's space. Last time their faces had been this close, Jack realized, had been twenty-twelve and Bunny had been objecting to being called a kangaroo. They'd been plenty close since then, arms slung over shoulders and around waists, wrestling and occasionally sparring - which never ended well, neither of them were very good at holding back. Jack would sprawl over Bunny when meetings got long, and Bunny would crowd close to Jack when they were somewhere excessively warm. They caught each other, Bunny catching Jack more than the other way around, but never, ever did their faces get this close to each other outside that one time.

It was very distracting.

Wait, Bunny had asked a question, he should probably answer. Jack managed a nod.

Bunny's glare shifted in an instant, and Jack blinked at the relaxed, even _happy_ smile. "Oh, good," Bunny said, and pressed his lips against Jack's.

* * *

His wings had been blue, before.

He thought about it, sometimes. About the way he'd carried the love his family and friends had for him. The way the blue had clashed with his fur, which had been cream and tan then.

His wings were gray, now, the same pale, slate hue of his fur, tipped with the darker, storm-cloud shade of his markings. They were bigger; Jack might've thought it was because kids these days only believed romantic love mattered, but he thought it might've been something else. That his wings couldn't manifest again without that romantic love, but once they were there, the love everyone else had for him, in every form, came through once more.

The love kids had for the Easter Bunny, the love his friends had for him, the love Jack felt - it was all there, spreading from his shoulders.

Aster thought about the differences between his wings, before and after, but only rarely. He'd been loved, and was loved, and loved his friends and believers and Jack back in turn.

And he loved being able to fly again.

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I know, long time, no posting - life has not been kind to me lately. As just one example, this fic was supposed to be posted for Jackrabbit week a few months ago. I didn't figure I'd get all the prompts, but wings? Sure! Should be easy, right?
> 
> Ahahahahahaha not really... On the other hand, thanks to job stress and other nonsense, it's a little over eleven thousand words of _feelings_ and fluff? So, yeah, enjoy the story, guys. And don't worry about the other stories, I am working on them, just a few paragraphs a day right now. It'll add up, but right now, not quite to a full chapter. Still, getting there. Sort of.


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